


Code Name: Butterfly

by sinnerman



Series: Daughters of the Heavens, Sons of the Sith [4]
Category: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: Complete and Utter Lack of Morals, F/M, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1466389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnerman/pseuds/sinnerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What traces did Revan leave on the first visit to the Sith Empire?</p><p>The story of a loyalist, fighting for an Empire he has no choice but to believe in.</p><p>Warning: Full playthrough of the Imperial Agent storyline.  Spoilers everywhere.  Minor headcanon alterations abound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Origin: One of the Legacy

“About myself?”   The Sith Lord raised an eyebrow, curious, but shrugged and leaned back on the couch without asking more.  “Uninteresting, in my opinion.  My father was a respected scientist, my mother fought in the wars.  Both Sith, of course. My bloodline is strong in the Force - with an embarrassing affinity for both sides.”  He sighed.  “My mother was disgraced shortly after the end of the war, and never returned.  My father was killed in a duel just after I was admitted to the Academy.  After his death, all of our family holdings were seized, leaving me to rise or fall on my own.”  He smiled at that.  “You can see for yourself, how well I have done.  I reclaimed my family name.  I have redeemed my father’s debts and my mother’s failings.”  He didn’t bother to point out the richly decorated house, or the trophies that adorned the walls.  He didn’t need to.  He was Sith, and his power was obvious.

“And your - work?”  The speaker was hidden in the shadows, and the face was covered with a heavy cowl.  But even that was not enough to hide the tall stature and brilliant red skin of a Sith Pureblood.

“You mean, my creations?” asked the Sith Lord, smiling with both amusement and pride.  “I was given a certain challenge by - someone important to me.  So I have worked to solve the problem presented, using the best genetic material I could find.”

“Your own.”

The Sith Lord nodded.  “My genes had half the solution already.  I set to work, and I have answered the challenge.  I know that I am not the only one to have done so, but I am do believe that I am the most successful.  Nevertheless, I am unconcerned with the affairs of others.  I take pride in my own work, and knowing that I have served the Empire in a way that few people - even other Lords - could do.”

His guest nodded.  “And we are grateful.  You are brilliant and loyal, even when the cost of loyalty is so high.  But indeed, your creation - the child - is perfect.”

“If I have served well,” he said calmly, “then I am content.”

“Then you leave the child’s destiny in our hands?”

“My Legacy has ever been loyal to the Emperor and the Empire.”

His guest nodded.  “For the Empire.”

“For the Empire,” he replied.

 


	2. Seminary: “He’s not like the other students.”

"And those are all the rules?" asked the little blue-haired boy.  He had a pure Imperial accent, every intonation showing that he came from a house of privilege.  But since this seminary did not train Force sensitive children, clearly, he was not one of the privileged ones.  Wide, slightly slanted blue eyes – a barely natural shade of blue that matched his bright blue hair.  Pale skin, a sweet smile.  He was attractive, but there was something slightly unsettling about the sculpted perfection of his face.  For a child of his age, he was often unnaturally still and quiet.  It was slightly disturbing.

"Yes," sighed the instructor.  "Those are all the rules.  Now, children, go out and play."

The children – an assortment of Imperial colors: red, blue, brown and white – ran out of the classroom with a chorus of happy laughs.  Only the blue-haired boy didn't laugh.  He stood up slowly, waiting for the other children to leave.  They all had their little cliques, even at this age, and he was the outsider.

The instructor watched him walk slowly to join in the scheduled playtime.  His blue hair wasn't the only thing that set him apart from all the others, and he knew it.  They called him a chimera, because someone in the administration had let it slip that this child was a genetic creation.  They teased him for being a crafted item rather than the result of random chance, a flawed creation that was only Human – not True Human, not enough genetic deviance to qualify as a Near Human.  Just Human, and nothing more.  He was slow at some of his studies, and incredibly brilliant in others.  Unbalanced.  Unsettling.  She waited until she heard the door to the playground close, then activated the locks so that she could file her reports in private.

There was only one door from the classroom to the playground.  The blue-haired boy paused, leaning against the door for a moment, and pulled off his headband.  Locks of bright blue hair immediately fell over his eyes, like a blue silk curtain, but he didn't seem to notice.  Instead, he focused on unwinding the cloth as he walked outside to join the other children in their mandated playtime.

"Haha, slowpoke!  Freak!  You're it, then!  Come and find us," laughed the other children as they scattered to their hiding places.  "You can't hide forever this time!  You have to play by the rules!"

Without answering, the blue-haired boy knelt down and picked up a rock.  The other children giggled to themselves, scattering to find hiding places while waiting for him to come searching.  One of them peered out from behind the tree where they were hiding, to see what the blue-haired boy was doing.  Instead of running around trying to find his fellow students, he was playing with the rocks around the 'castle' – where the children, by the rules of the playground game, would be safe from attack from the seeker.  The blue-haired boy.

"What are you doing?" asked one of the children.  "You're supposed to be seeking."

Isal, a handsome young boy of pure Sith blood, suddenly stood up.  "Are you going to play or not?" he shouted in derision.

The blue-haired boy moved his arm, as if waving.  There was a sudden crack, and Isal staggered backwards, blood streaming down his handsome red face.  No one saw the blue-haired boy slip another rock into his makeshift sling, but as quickly as the other children exposed themselves, the blue-haired boy saw to it that their screams were abruptly cut off.

The children looked around in terror, but their instructor was struggling with the door.  She banged her hand furiously on the door, trying to figure out how the small boy had locked her inside.

"You'll be safe in the castle," observed the blue-haired quietly.  "Those are the rules."  He looked around the playground, waiting for another one of his former tormentors to show themselves.  "You just have to make it here before the recess period is over, or the instructor ends our game."  He glanced over, and saw that the rock was still securely wedged in the door.  There was only one entrance to the playground, unless someone thought to break a window.

One of the children, a pretty True Human girl with long dark hair, ran for the door.  The blue-haired boy sent a rock flying her way.  There was a sickening crack before she sank to the floor with her leg sticking out at an awkward angle.  She didn't scream, and had most likely fainted immediately from the pain.

"Or," he said quietly, "you can just hide forever."


	3. Visitation: "What you were made for."

The doctor looked at the little blue-haired boy, concern showing on her aged but attractive face.  “He is very young,” she said doubtfully.  “There is risk.”

The Sith Lord shrugged, and gestured the boy forward.  “There is no reward without risk.  It will work.  He will live.”

“Do you mean the child?” asked the doctor, but the Sith Lord did not answer.  With a sigh, she led the little boy to the carefully sterilized room, and began to take his blood.  “The next part will be painful,” she warned.  “Do you still  refuse to allow any anaesthetic?”

“It would have an adverse impact,” said the Sith Lord dryly.  “Trust me, you’re better off without it.”

The doctor frowned to herself, but continued her work.  She knew that she was already pushing the Lord’s patience with her questions.  She skimmed over the data on the datapad, reading the boy’s biogenetic information from the samples she was taking.  She gasped suddenly, as a familiar pattern began to unfold before her eyes.  “This is - ”

“Be silent,” snarled the Sith Lord.  “Do your duty, as I have done mine.  No more.”

“Yes, my Lord.”  Her voice was contrite and humble now.

Through it all, the little blue-haired boy had remained silent and calm.  His eyes flicked to his father occasionally, but most of his interest was absorbed by the medical droid standing next to the doctor.

The doctor bent over to pull out all the tubes and needles.  “I am done now.  You should be very proud,” she whispered to the child.  “You are a gift to the Empire.”

The little boy looked at her in confusion, but the doctor had already moved away, her eyes hidden from him.  He glanced up at his father, his face calm and placid again.  No sign showed on the little boy’s face that the doctor had done or said anything unusual.

“Pierce.”  That was all the Sith Lord said, but the tall, broad bodyguard immediately moved forward to pick the little boy.

It was on the tip of his tongue to protest that he could walk, but he suddenly felt dizzy and weak.  The world was spinning, and his brain was full of nonsense.  He didn’t trust himself to talk, and he didn’t want to appear weak in front of his father.

He heard a voice, an old voice, but no one else seemed to notice.  He didn’t understand the words at first, but he recognized the guttural yet sibilant sounds of his father’s native tongue.  The voice repeated the words again, and this time he sort of understood them.  He wasn’t supposed to understand them, he knew that.  This language was supposed to be for purebloods and Force sensitives, not people like him.  But he heard it, and he understood.

“Your agony will give you strength.  I thank you for your suffering, little one.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered in response, as quietly as he could.  Even if it was a hallucination, it seemed like a good idea to be polite.

Pierce looked at him sharply, and the little blue-haired boy decided to be quiet again.  He lay still, and thought over this strange and confusing day.  Suddenly, it struck him that he had spoken to the voice in the same language.  “But I don’t speak Sith,” he said to himself, and Pierce glanced at him again.  He hid his face in the bodyguard's shoulder, blushing as he realized he was drawing attention to himself.  His mind raced back to the tubes and needles of the doctor’s visit, and he wondered: had they been taking something out, or putting something in?


	4. Seminary: “And the other students don’t like him.”

He almost laughed at the sight, as he watched his fellow students draw back to the walls, cowering in fear, but realized that to them, this was extremely unusual.  This level of power, this tightly controlled rage that they could not help feeling, this unquestionable dominance, all radiating from one man.  This was Sith, and they were not prepared.

He watched his father walk past the barre, ignoring all the students hiding from him, walking up to the teacher who was still dangling in midair, her hands clutching at the unseen Force around her throat.

“You incompetent beast.”  The words cut like ice, and the teacher flinched, as if the Sith Lord had physically struck her with each word, even as she continued choking and gasping for air.

His father raised his hand, releasing her, and the teacher fell to polished floor with an ugly crash.

“My son’s performance was flawless,” hissed the Sith Lord.  “How dare you.”

“Forgive me, my Lord,” she stammered as quickly as she could, but his father was already in the grip of rage, and that wouldn’t be enough to stop him.  He knew it, and as soon as the teacher looked desperately at him for help or guidance, she knew it too.  She saw the answer to her unspoken question in the eerily calm blue eyes.

The boy was almost a man, but not quite.  Not yet.  He still had startlingly blue hair and eyes, and the sculpted perfection of his face was even more alluring now.  He was becoming dangerously attractive.  He bore a slight resemblance to the infuriated Sith Lord.  The blue-haired boy was slightly broader in the shoulders and promised to be taller, but they had the same lean build and slender hips.  The boy had wider cheekbones, but they had the same slightly slanted eyes.

“Please, my Lord!”  Cowering, the dance teacher quickly threw herself on the floor, putting all of her trained grace into the motion.  “I was wrong, I wasn’t paying attention - please, my Lord!”

The boy watched her, alert and curious, as he saw that something in her pleading had an effect.  He carefully noted her position.  The way she was kneeling, with her head to the ground.  The way she had placed her arms before her, pressed to the floor.  Her hands were crossed at the the wrists, making it impossible for her to resist anything that happened to her.  Her knees were drawn up close to her body, raising her body in a way that the boy was now old enough to appreciate.  She had crossed her ankles, as well.  The position made it awkward for her to move and impossible to run, but there was an undeniable beauty in her pose.  The boy suddenly realized that immobility was the point of that position.  A signal that she had no intention of resisting.

Submission.

And he could see, from his father’s subtle change of position, that it worked.  The rage was still there, but the threat was lessened.  More, the Sith Lord’s interest was piqued in her as a woman.

“Fool,” said the Sith Lord sharply.  “Review the holovid of the performance.  And then, remove yourself from this position.  You are not fit to instruct my son."

“Forgive me, my Lord.  I saw the mistake after I lost my temper.  I was foolish,” she said quickly.  “Thank you for correcting me.”

There was a pause.  A dangerous silence.  “Leave, all of you,” said the Sith Lord.  His hands were on his hips now, and his eyes watched the woman before him.

Without pausing to ask, the students scattered and fled the studio before his wrath found a new target.

The boy would have stayed, to keep watching his teacher and learning from her, but he knew enough about his father to know that he would never see her again.

In his mind’s eye, he replayed the scene, but it was impossible to place himself there, to imagine himself curled up at his father’s feet.  He could picture himself in that pose, or standing over it, but he had no idea who should play the other part.


	5. Collegium: “He kisses like he was made for it.”

“What has that freak done with his hair?” muttered one of the teachers watching the new class of students filing into the main hall of the Collegium.

“Who, the blue-haired one?”  The other teacher looked up from her notes.  “It’s natural.”

“What?  By the stars, why?  How?  Who would do that?  And why doesn’t he dye it something less - alien?” sneered the first teacher.

“It wouldn’t help,” the second one assured her.  “As I said, it’s natural.  He’d have to dye everything.”

“Oh.  Wait, what?  How do you - ”

“He wanted to get a head start on some classes,” smiled the second teacher.  She was a full-figured woman, below average height, rather plain, and normally a quiet and reserved woman.  But today, she seemed to be filled with energy and self-assurance, the kind that comes from skilled and unfailing flattery.  And probably copious amounts of sexual satisfaction.

The first teacher frowned to herself, and looked away.  She was a statuesque woman, used to the plaudits of her students, and it irked her to find out that someone else had gotten the first kill, so to speak.  “Well, I suppose if that’s the best  you can do,” she sneered weakly.

“Possibly,” said the second teacher, still smiling.  “But you’ll never know.  I warned him that if he so much as looked at you, I would make sure he failed the entire semester.”

 

Her name was Lara, and she was the latest senior to fall under the spell of the blue-haired boy.  He had made quite a name for himself at the Collegium.  What classes he couldn’t pass on his own, he found willing lovers to do his work for him.  Teachers, fellow students, directors - no one was safe from his wealth and his charm.    It was known that he was the son of a Sith Lord, one of the ones in the direct service of the Emperor.  He had more money to spend than almost every student at the Collegium, and even some of the teachers.  If only he had been a True Human, or Force sensitive, he would possess all the things that made a man attractive in the Empire.  As it was, he had to compensate.

Lara balanced herself carefully on the ledge, and wondered if she should apologize again.  She tried to peer back into the room, to see what he was doing now.  He was sitting at her desk, playing with one of her datapads.  “Synjihn?  Please, I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it.  Please,” she pleaded.

The blue-haired boy looked up, and Lara almost backed away in terror before remembering that she was standing on a ledge that was two thousand nine hundred and twenty-two stories above ground.  “I’m having trouble cracking your password,” he said mildly.  “It’s going to be difficult to write a suicide letter without that.”

Lara gasped.  “Synjihn, no!  Please, I’m sorry,” she sobbed.  “I’m not going to say anything, I’ll never do it again!  Please!”

Synjihn glanced at his reflection in the datapad.  Blue eyes.  Dark lashes.  Straight nose.  High cheekbones.  Full lips.  Blue hair.  His father’s best friend was a man with dark blue hair.  A Chiss.  Chiss hybrids were impossible and forbidden.  Strange that something impossible needed a law to prevent it from happening.  That’s why everyone pretended he wasn’t one.  Except when they were taunting him for being one.

“Synjihn,” whimpered Lara.  “Please!”  Her pretty face was drenched with tears.

Synjihn stood up suddenly, and opened the window.  His face was unreadable.  Lara sobbed with gratitude, and he pushed her off the ledge before she realized what was happening.  By the time she started screaming she was already too far down for anyone to hear.  Synjihn wiped the window, leaving some of his prints there - he wanted it to look natural.  But it would look as though the last person to touch the window had been Lara.  He left the window half-open, and walked over to the bed to sleep, so he could pretend to be surprised when she missed all of her classes tomorrow.

 

“Perfect marks in every class.”  The man, clearly a professor at the collegium, handed the datapad he was reviewing to his colleague, a stern-faced woman of indeterminate position.  There was another professor in the room as well, a glum man who was pulling up data for the others to look over.

“Of course,” grumbled the other professor.  “For one thing, that blue-haired freak has been banging Lord Kios since classes started.”

The first professor chuckled indulgently.  “So he has.  And some others as well.”

The woman nodded absently as she took up another datapad, reading each one quickly before selecting another.  “I’m impressed.  He makes the best possible use of his many talents.”  She skimmed over the notes on the datapad in front of her.  “He chooses wisely.  He only selects those who can serve him.  No sentiment.”

“I question that,” grumbled the second professor, the one who was not a fan of the blue-haired boy.  “He has sentiment, if anger can be considered a sentiment.”  He handed a datapad to the woman.  “You see?  Temperamental, even.”

She read the information, but her face never changed from the same cold expression.  “Efficient,” said the woman approvingly.  “And neat.  Only the simplest explanations required to cover up.  I have no issue with that element.”  She read this datapad more carefully than she had the others.  “I note that even without … assistance, he would have excellent grades.  He is brilliant, yet - unfocused?  No, that isn’t the correct term,” she mused.  “He is unwilling to be as capable as he can, and he does not need to be.  He knows it.  He is pushing our limits, testing our patience.”

“Seeing how much he can get away with,” suggested the first professor.

The woman shook her head.  “No.  He is fully aware of how much he can get away with, as you put it.  He pushes that far, and no further.  He has never done anything that would have put him at risk of expulsion.  He is more educated than his peers in that regard.  He knows the system.”

Both professors nodded in silent agreement.  No one would ever question that the blue-haired boy knew the system inside and out.

“We use him,” she said decisively.  “Continue his training.  Test him.  Test him hard.  I want to see.”

“Do you think he will fail?” asked the first professor, somewhat nervously.

She shook her head.  “I want to see how he surprises us.”


	6. Collegium: “He lies like he was made for it.”

The prisoner looked up as a new interrogator entered the room, a surprisingly young man in the nondescript standard uniform of an Imperial.  A young man with bright blue hair and dark blue eyes.  Handsome face, but cold eyes.  The prisoner swallowed nervously before he could stop himself.

“Oh, don’t be afraid,” laughed the young man.  “I’m just a student.  My instructor offered me extra credit to participate in a real interrogation, but I don’t have to do anything.  I’m just taking notes.”  He walked around the captive.  He moved casually, unthreatening.  Interested.

The prisoner was bound to a plain metal chair.  This was not a sophisticated room with a torture table or a pain dispenser.  It was just an unused office.  One desk, two chairs, plain overhead lights.  A tank of military-grade kolto rested near the door.  The young man sat on it, and carefully regarded the prisoner.

“You’re a mercenary, right?  But not a real Mandalorian.”

The prisoner looked up at that, angry.  “I am a Mandalorian!”

“But you were captured,” the young man protested mildly.  “I thought real Mandalorians fought until death.  You must be a new Mandalorian, then.  Still learning _resol’nare_?”

The prisoner swore at him in Mando’a, and the student interrogator just laughed.

“Maybe if you had fought that hard against the soldiers, you would still have your armor,” the student mocked.

“Who are you?” hissed the prisoner.

“Me?  My name is Synjihn, and if I wanted to, I could claim membership in two of the larger Clans.  But I prefer my Sith heritage.  It pays better.”

The prisoner spat another insult in Mando’a, but Synjihn just laughed again.

“No, not rape.  My ancestors made allies where they saw strength, and in repayment, some Clan got to unleash a _Sitt_ on their enemies.  At least one of them returned home with babies, which is really only to be expected when warriors impress each other on the field of battle.  Not that you would know,” he grinned.  Synjihn jumped back in fake surprise as the prisoner tried to lunge at him from his bonds.  “Easy there, you’re going to break something.”

“Cut me loose, and I’ll show you who’s weak!”

“Such rage,” mused Synjihn.  “And if you beat me, will we have sex after?  I can’t bear your children, though.  That requires more planning.”

“What?”  The prisoner looked up at him in confusion.

“I told you,” laughed Synjihn, “I’m a student.  I have no questions for you.  I’m just… here.”  He cocked his head and looked at the prisoner.  “But I suppose, to make it fair, I should insist that if I win, I get to ask you questions and get answers.”

“What?  This is a trick, isn’t it?” growled the prisoner.  “You’re just trying to get me to talk.  Spirits warp your weapons, _Sitt_ hound!  I won’t tell you anything!”

Synjihn shrugged.  “Well, if you don’t want to take my offer, I guess I’ll just go with what my teacher wants.”  He moved so fast the prisoner barely had time to turn his head, and ended up with a dark welt across his face.  “I want you to think about this while we work,” smiled Synjihn.  “I want you to remember that we could have done this another way.”

The prisoner felt a dark chill across his spine as he realized the young man’s smile was completely unchanged.

The beating was brutal, and not a single word crossed the young man’s lips.  He ignored the prisoner’s screams, and only paused when the Mandalorian trainee began pleading for mercy.

“I don’t know anything,” sobbed the prisoner.  They were ugly, gasping sobs.  Ribs had been broken.  His ankle was swollen and his foot pointed at an odd angle.  He was still bound to the plain metal chair, but the chair was now on the floor, with his arm twisted underneath.  “Please.  Please.”

Synjihn sighed, and picked up the chair, setting the captive back upright and carefully arranging him to the most comfortable position possible, under the circumstances.  When he was done, he leaned over to kiss the prisoner on the forehead, brushing away a trickle of blood from the man’s scalp as he did.  “You poor thing.  They should have kept you in the kitchens, not used you as a messenger.”

“I was just carrying it,” the prisoner whimpered.  “I didn’t know….”

“So who gave you the package?” asked Synjihn calmly.  For all the damage he had done, for all the brutality he had shown, he was still calm and clean.  The only sign of his recent exertions were a few hairs out of place, and a slight smudge of blood at the side of his lips.  “And you were delivering it to the grocer, yes?”

“The grocer’s daughter,” whimpered the prisoner.  He was still terrified, fearing that at any second, the kind smile would turn back into the calm smile, from the gentle caresses back to the savage beating.  “She’s the one working with the smuggling ring.  Her mother knows, but it’s the daughter, Ai’kata.  She’s the one.”

“Ah,” Synjihn purred approvingly.  “I don’t think I knew that.”  He sat down on the desk, and casually brushed at the prisoner’s face, wiping away blood and dabbing at some of the bloodier wounds on his face with kolto.  “And who gave you the package?” he asked again.

“Please,” groaned the prisoner.

“You have to tell me,” said Synjihn calmly.  “Or I have to hurt you until you do.  And if you die before you talk, then we have to kill everyone in your little Clan.”

The prisoner gasped in horror.  “But - you can’t!  You don’t know where the camp is.  You don’t know our name!”

“I don’t have to,” smiled Synjihn sweetly.  “You were carrying the delivery, that means you didn’t go very far.  So I just have to find the nearest local Clan wealthy enough to own a stronghold with servants in the kitchens, but so small that they recruit from their staff.  I wonder,” mused Synjihn, “if I wait here long enough, will he come looking for you?  Or will he just let you go?  Give up on his precious toy that he trusted with such an important mission?”  Synjihn laughed at the look on his prisoner’s face.  With a slight laugh, Synjihn tilted his head to one side.  “Do you think, if I put myself in his way, he would find me first?”

“You’ll kill him.”  The prisoner’s voice was low, but Synjihn could hear the words.  The broken voice of despair.

“No, no,” laughed Synjihn.  “Not at all.  We’ll arrest Ai’kata and her cronies, but Mandalorians always get a second chance.  The Empire finds uses for them, you see.”

The prisoner swallowed, fearful, but desperate to believe.  He knew that there was a sort of truth in the torturer’s words.  The Empire needed the Mandalorians, so long as the Clan was willing to work for forgiveness.  He whispered a name, then a Clan name.

Synjihn looked up to make sure his instructor heard the words, then smiled down at his prisoner.  “Now, what to do with you…”  He laughed at the prisoner’s shock.  “Mandalorians get a second chance, not worthless failures like you.  You’re barely worth reselling on the open market.  But, I suppose we should see if you have any more useful information in there.”  He jumped off the table, and stretched, cracking his knuckles and flexing his shoulders.  “Let’s get back to it, shall we?”


	7. Collegium: “He kills like he was made for it.”

Synjihn continued reading over his datapad, while the other students gathered into small groups discussing the new assignment.  As always, he was in a clique of his own.  He didn’t make friends with his equals, only people who could give him something in exchange for his time.

He could hear them discussing.  Plotting.  Wondering how he planned to complete the assignment on his own, since there was no one who could be drafted to do his work for him in exchange for sex.  Synjihn smiled to himself.  

The professor walked into the class, smiling politely at everyone, glanced once, nervously, at Synjihn, before recovering his equilibrium and opening the class.  “Has everyone familiarized themselves with the assignment?”  Silently, everyone in the class touched the assent on the screen to let the professor know that he could continue.  The professor, an old True Human with dark skin and pale grey eyes, watched the screen as the students answered one by one.  Again, he glanced up nervously to look at Synjihn, again without saying anything.  “Very well, then.  Everyone has been assigned an interrogation room, a partner and their role for the first part.  Please head to the interrogation chamber and begin the scenario.  Remember: your goal is get the answers to your questions using any method possible.”

Synjihn smiled to himself, and watched the other students leave the room, clustering first into their little cliques of influence before breaking off into uncomfortable pairs.  Only Synjihn was alone, and he sat and waited for his target to realize.

Stelle was a young Human male, with wide, dark eyes and the white hair of Echani ancestry.  His normally calm countenance darkened as he saw his partner’s name.  With a heavy sigh, Stelle walked out of the room to wait for Synjihn rather than walking back inside.

Synjihn smiled at the professor and started walking to meet up with Stelle.  He held back a laugh at the nervous look on the professor’s face.  The hallway outside the classroom was already empty, so he walked alone to the assigned interrogation room.

He could hear the other students laughing nervously or shouting furiously as they tried to work themselves into the proper frame of mind.  Synjihn paused and watched one pair of students who were clumsily trying to play interrogator and subject.  He didn’t understand why this was so hard.  Of course, he’d had more time to think about how he wanted the assignment to turn out.  He’d been preparing for this project all month.

He walked on, and paused outside the door of his interrogation room.  No one had paid any attention to him at all.  He peered inside before opening the door.  Stelle was sitting down at the desk, reading the assignment datapad.

Synjihn pondered, then knocked quietly on the door before sticking his head into the room.  “Is this - oh, there you are, Stelle.  I didn’t see you.”

“Oh… hi, Keçrye.  You surprised me.  Come on in, let’s get this started.”

Synjihn cocked his head and looked curiously at Stelle.  “Really?  That’s how you want to do this?”

The young man blushed.  “I think this is a dumb project, okay?  What, you want me to manhandle you or something?”  He crossed his arms, and leaned back against the table.  “I didn’t think I was your type.”

Synjihn shrugged, and walked in, waiting for the door to lock behind him.  His hands were behind his back, and Stelle couldn’t see if he touched the locking mechanism.  He looked around the room, curious to see how well Stelle had prepared for this assignment.  Stelle looked around the room as well, and in consequence, was caught completely off-guard when Synjihn tackled him, pinning him to the ground.

“What - get off me!  What do you think  you’re doing?”

Synjihn smiled.  “I think I’m completing my assignment.”  He smacked Stelle’s head against the ground.  “Did you listen to the instructions, Stelle?”  He smiled as the other student began to struggle, trying to break free.  “Any method possible,’” he murmured under his breath.  “And you know how I love following the rules.”

But there was no one to respond to Synjihn’s quiet mockery.  It wasn’t that he was necessarily stronger than the other student.  But Synjihn was already in a position of power, and he had no qualms about using it.  He didn’t mind the blood on his hands or his clothes.  He didn’t care about what Stelle or the other students would think.  He didn’t care about the pain.

Synjihn waited for Stelle to stop screaming, and shoved the dislocated shoulder back in place.  “I still have a few questions,” he smiled.  “If you don’t feel like answering, you can just tell me your password.”  Stelle swore at him instead of answering, so Synjihn went back to hitting him.

The door buzzed, then opened without waiting for a response.  The head of the Collegium was standing there, wearily wiping at her optic implants before replacing them.  “Enough, Keçrye.”

Synjihn smiled calmly at her.  “Does that mean I pass the assignment, Administrator?”

“I’ll discuss it with your instructor,” she sighed, “but this has gone on long enough.”  She turned and walked away, leaving the door open.

Synjihn sighed and looked down at Stelle.  The other student had collapsed into tears of relief at being rescued.  “I really didn’t want to do this,” he murmured softly.  Stelle looked up in time to see the networked monitor on the wall above him come crashing down.  It was the last thing he saw.

The Administrator put a hand to her head in pain and impatience.  “Dammit.  I gave the wrong answer, didn’t I?”  She shook her head as students peered out of the classrooms, seeking the source of the horrible noises.  “Of course.  Death is an automatic pass, isn’t it?  Dammit, Keçrye.”

 

“Your body is one of the many weapons in your arsenal.  You will learn to use it.”  The instructor smiled at the class.  “Some of you have already started on this research.  But there is always room for improvement,” she smiled.  She turned and looked directly at Synjihn.  “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“That depends,” murmured Synjihn thoughtfully.  “Will that get me anything I want?”

She smiled proudly at him.  “I love when students come to me with the basics under their belt - so to speak.  The most important part of your work, children, is to remember this: You must be in control,” she walked around the small classroom, touching every student as she spoke, “at all times.  If you can’t control the situation, control yourself.”  A stroke of the arm here, a quick shoulder caress there.  “You aren’t always going to be the one choosing, understand that.  Accept that.  But you must always be in control.”

Some of the students seemed to think this was a contradiction.  She laughed, and sat down on the desk across from Synjihn, gently resting her hand on his arm.  “For one thing, dears, I can guarantee that at some point in your career, you will either have to rape someone or be raped.  Possibly both, but not usually in the same incident.  Still,” she laughed, “anything is possible.”  She cocked her head and looked curiously at Synjihn.  “I suspect that you would not be terribly disturbed, my dear.  You have that quiet aura about you, like you understand, all too well.”  She looked around the room, addressing the whole class.  “You are tools of the Empire, children.  Your bodies are just extensions of that.”  She smiled gently at them, reminding them all why they were in this class.  “If you fail a mission, let it not be because you were ashamed of something required of you.  You are here to serve.  We all are, and we will serve.”  There was something cold and final in her words.

Synjihn realized that he was leaning forward in his chair, eagerly watching and listening, and forced himself to relax and assume a position of casual disinterest.  The instructor flashed him a bright smile of approval, and he blushed as he realized that she could read him like an unlocked datapad.  He envied her skill.  He wanted it.

Synjihn gave in and listened attentively, noting the way she moved, the words she used.  The way she stood, the timing of her touch.  It was hard to place himself in her position as she spoke, imagining that he had her perfect mix of cold self-control and seductive passion.

She paused in her lecture to smile encouragingly at him.  Synjihn looked at the other students in his class.  This was a small lecture group, partially because of the subject and partially because the administration was trying to minimize conflict between Synjihn and the others.  Synjihn saw wary eagerness in the eyes of his fellow students, and looked down at his desk.

The instructor touched him gently on the shoulder, and tilted his chin up to look at her.  “Not interested anymore?”

“I’m still interested,” he laughed.  “But I’ll wait my turn.”  He smiled at her.  “I promised I would behave.”  He saw the question in her eyes, and leaned back in his chair.  “So.  Now I have something you want.”  He smiled again, for real this time.  “I really like this game, don’t you?”


	8. Agency: Exceptional/Expendable

Synjihn sat quietly at the table, unsure of what to do with himself.  One of the children came running down the hallway, laughing cruelly and holding a large crystal over her head.  Red skin, long dark hair.  All the marks of a Pureblooded Sith.

“Give that back!” shouted the younger child.  He was a True Human, and showed no signs of Sith ancestry, except that he looked like a tiny copy of his father.  Their father.

Synjihn wondered if he should consider them his brother and sister, but it didn’t feel right.  They were both Force sensitive, and he was not.  Although, their father frowned in a way that confused Synjihn when he looked at the little boy.

He blinked suddenly as a large chunk of crystal came flying at his head.  He ducked, but he knew he wasn’t going to be fast enough to completely escape the impact.  But it didn’t hit him.  Synjihn looked up, stared at the crystal floating in the air, and his little brother with his arms outstretched.

“Oh!”  Furious, the Sith girl slapped the Human boy, then stormed off.

The crystal fell, abruptly unsupported by the Force, and Synjihn caught it before it hit the floor.

“Thank you,” said the little boy politely.  “I don’t know why Zoranna is so horrible,” he frowned.  It made him look more like their father than his smiles did.  “It makes studying very hard.”

“Thank you,” said Synjihn nervously.  He bowed as he handed the crystal back to the boy.

“Oh, stop that,” snapped the boy.  “You’re my brother, you don’t have to bow and scrape to me.  Even on Corellia there weren’t this many sycophants.”  He turned over the crystal carefully.  “She better not have cracked it.  My name is Kys, when I’m at home, but apparently I’m Kyson-li now that I’m here.”

“Hello,” Synjihn bowed again, because that was proper.  “My name is Synjihn.  The honor is mine.”

Kyson-li looked curiously at his older brother.  “You’re waiting for Father, aren’t you?  He’s not going to be back for hours.  You’re not really going to sit in that room waiting for him to come back, are you?”

Synjihn smiled weakly.  “I don’t really have anything better to do.”

The little boy rolled his eyes.  “Come sit with me while I study.”  He took Synjihn by the hand and led him back to the large room where a tutor was standing nervously.  “This is my brother,” said Kyson-li firmly.  “He’s going to sit with us while we talk.”  He pointed to a chair, and Synjihn obediently sat down.  Kyson-li tapped at his terminal, then sat down next to him, oblivious or deliberately ignoring his tutor’s discomfort.  “I’m just ordering some food,” said the little boy casually.  “You can go on.”  He handed the crystal back to his tutor.  “Start over with the Opila crystals, please.”

Synjihn followed Kyson-li for the rest of the day.  Their shared father didn’t return at all.  He only sent a hasty message ordering Synjihn to stay in the house, and commending Kyson-li for keeping up with his studies.  Zoranna’s mother took her away, leaving the two boys alone in the house with the servants.  He didn’t return the next day, either.

Despite being older, Synjihn didn’t dare to try to take charge of Kyson-li, but the younger boy had no trouble taking charge of both of them.  Synjihn learned more about archaeology and artifacts than he expected to as the days stretched into weeks.  And as he watched the boy practice with the tutors sent from the Sith, he began to understand why their father frowned.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” asked Kyson-li.

“No,” smiled Synjihn.  “I’ve finished.  A little ahead of schedule.”

Kyson-li frowned.  “Father didn’t go to the ceremony, did he?  He’s so very careless sometimes.  It’s maddening.”  The little boy looked up at his older brother.  “I’d forgive him if I thought it was because of me.  But it wasn’t.  He didn’t go because he doesn’t care about you.”

“He was probably busy,” said Synjihn quickly.

“You make me want to throw things when you do that,” said Kyson-li bitterly.  “You’re scared of me, because I’m Force sensitive,” he rolled his eyes.  “And Father can be intimidating, but he’s our father!  He should pay more attention to you.  It’s bad enough that he just left you here alone all month!”

“It wasn’t a whole month,” said Synjihn.  But he realized that Kyson-li was right, but he couldn’t bring himself to question or complain about his father.

“Indeed,” drawled the Sith Lord who had approached completely unnoticed by the boys, “I made it by a few hours.  Zoranna is with her mother?”  He looked around the unusually neat room.

“Father!”  Kyson-li jumped up from the table and ran over to hug the Sith Lord while Synjihn watched in shock.  Kyson-li began babbling about all the things he had learned, after quickly confirming Zoranna’s departure.  At one point, Kyson-li pointed excitedly at Synjihn.

Synjihn kept his face perfectly neutral as he watched his father pick up Kyson-li and walk out of the room, cuddling the small child as any normal parent would.  He had a slight moment of panic when they left the room, leaving him alone with the equally confused and panicked tutor.  He sighed with relief as Quinn stepped into the doorway and beckoned him over.  Out of politeness and caution, Synjihn bowed to the tutor before quickly walking over to his father’s aide-de-camp.  He didn’t speak until they were safely in the confines of Quinn’s office.  “Thank you.”

Quinn smiled ruefully and handed him a glass filled with a sweet concoction of herbs.  “It looks like you’ve made friends with little Kys - pardon - Kyson-li.”

Synjihn nodded, with a slightly nervous smile.  “He’s exceptional.  And very unusual.”

“Too unusual,” Quinn frowned, and sipped at his own glass.  “We meant to move him before this.  It may already be too late.”

“Move him?” asked Synjihn sharply.  “To the Academy?”

They looked at each other.  Quinn was more than just his father’s aide.  He had been Synjihn’s first teacher, and his oldest friend.  One of the things he had learned from Quinn was when to speak in the Empire, and when not to.

“Of course,” said Quinn calmly.  But his eyes said something different.  “You’ve seen him.  He will be a powerful Force user someday.  He needs proper training.  But that’s no concern of ours.”  He smiled, and held out a datapad.  “Your documents arrive in the morning.  You’ll have proper diplomatic immunity, and you can transfer messages and packages to Republic space as necessary.  You’ll be working with one of Darth Marr’s underlings to start, to get you a proper background.  Do try not to get caught,” Quinn pleaded.

“Not right away,” Synjihn assured him.  He took the datapad and skimmed it.  “A delivery to Coruscant, even.  How exciting,” he said dryly.  Diplomatic work was part of every would-be agent’s training.

“You’re lucky,” smiled Quinn.  “Most tyros would be shuffling datapads on Balmorra for their first outing.”

“Well, they should have planned their birth better.”  Synjihn read over the details again, memorizing them.  “Thank you for this, Quinn.  I really do appreciate it.  I promise not to get in any trouble.  Well, not any that Father would notice.”

“Good.  Ah, there’s one more thing.  A little one.  A favor for me, actually,” smiled Quinn.  He handed over another datapad, an encrypted one.  “I just need that delivery taken care of and signed off.  You can do that, of course?”

Synjihn kept his face perfectly neutral as he decrypted the datapad and read the instructions.  “Of course,” he assured Quinn.  “I will be on Coruscant, after all.  It won’t take long at all.  No one will notice, I assure you,” he said confidently.  He casually encrypted the datapad again.  He wanted to tell Quinn he would have done it anyway, that he would be overjoyed to save his little brother from becoming like Zoranna.  But those weren’t words that he could use here.  “I should start packing,” he smiled instead.

Quinn smiled back at him, and he knew that Quinn understood.  He wished he could hug Quinn the way Kyson-li had hugged their father, but he couldn’t.  He hoped Quinn understood that, too.  Synjihn bowed, as the conference was over, and took his datapads to his room to start getting ready.

 

“This one.  He’s completed the minimums for diplomatic service, has he not?  Wait, what is this?”  Guidant Four frowned as she read through the dossier in front of her.  “Mixed Human ancestry?” she sniffed.  “Deplorable.  Typical Sith offspring.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Guidant Thirteen, startled from his own reading.  “Sith heritage?”

Guidant Four nodded.  “Primary paternal side, male Mixed Human Sith, currently a Darth in the service of the Emperor.  Aligned with the Ministry of War.”

“Ah.”  Guidant Thirteen looked back at his datapad.  “I noted the engineered Chiss heritage, but somehow did not see the indication of Sith ancestry during my original review.  That accounts for the independent wealth.”

“Standard Sith behavior patterns,” Guidant Four sneered.  “Breeding for Force sensitive children.  Discarding the rest.”

Guidant Thirteen touched the screen, bringing up a full face holopic of the newest Intelligence Agent.  The young man in the picture was wearing the traditional Collegium uniform.  He looked Human, except for the bright blue hair, but now the Guidant thought he saw something dark and unsettling in the new Agent’s eyes.  “Sith,” Guidant Thirteen said again, slowly, as if considering all aspects of the word.  “That puts a slightly different light on certain... incidents... at the Collegium.  And after.”

Guidant Four deactivated her datapad.  “Unconcerned with familial influence.  Can have a desk job if this assignment is refused.”

“If he fails?” asked Guidant Thirteen calmly, trying to hide his nervousness.

“Sith do not accept failures,” said Guidant Four sharply.  “The father would be first to forget.”

“Yes, indeed.  So...”  Guidant Thirteen looked at the picture again.  The young man was undeniably attractive.  His reports from the Collegium showed a stellar agent in the making: skilled, intelligent, unscrupulous, daring - and his activities as a diplomat proved he was loyal to the Empire.  “Then, we use him.”

“Yes.  The perfect choice.”

"Begin the training program immediately."


	9. Incognito: “Tell me what I want to know.”

“What do you know about this Kinkuri guy anyway?” grumbled Neeto.  She was a Rodian spice dealer, and her  normal contact had recently been the victim of a horrible traffic accident, one where he had been shot fourteen times, at extremely close range.  A common risk on Nar Shadaa when a traveler went from one gang’s territory to another.

“He’s got a good eye,” smiled Gli.  The Corellian man always smiled.  His nerves had been damaged, so his face was stuck that way.  “And he can pass a fake like no one I’ve ever seen.  I like him.”

“Did you fuck him?” demanded Neeto.  “You always like the guys you fuck.”

Gli blushed.  “His money’s good, but his tongue is better.  I’m not jealous, if you want to take him for a spin yourself.”

“I don’t play with my customers,” said Neeto sharply.  “Besides, I don’t like Human men.”

Gli shrugged.  “Then you’ll have nothing to complain about.”

Almost as if on cue, the door opened and the man calling himself Sonny Kinkuri walked in.  He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat when he walked in, but he pulled it off and bowed ostentatiously to Neeto and Gli.  The motion was smooth, and removing the hat revealed the bright blue hair.  “My ‘pologies for bein’ late,” grinned Sonny.  He replaced his hat, and leaned against the wall instead of sitting, choosing a spot where he could see the entire room.  The first thing he looked at was Gli, and the way he looked at the Corellian made Gli blush again.  Then he looked at Neeto, running his eyes over her curves without ever once acknowledging her alienness.  “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Just Neeto is fine,” she said quickly, slightly flustered.  Kinkuri was tall and lean and dangerous, and just not-Human enough to make her hormones fire off in response to his bold glances.  “You sure do know how to make an entrance,” she said grudgingly.  She looked at him, taking note of the battered long rifle on his back.

The man calling himself Sonny Kinkuri grinned.  “Years of practice.”  He had the accent and speech patterns of the Republic of the gutters and the gangs.  No one would be surprised to find a few stretches of jail time in his record.  They would be horrified to find out that he was an Imperial Intelligence Agent, though.  But Sonny - Synjihn - was confident they wouldn’t.  This wasn’t an important meet, it was just a background exercise.  Things to do to make this persona - Sonny Kinkuri - real.  One arrest was enough for Intelligence to spawn a history of prison time served; a few underworld dealings were enough to spin rumors and create a myth that could be used when necessary.  A few well-chosen connections would serve to keep the reality of Sonny Kinkuri even when he was no longer on Nar Shadaa to be seen.

“So, you’re willing to buy this shipment?” Neeto asked suspiciously.  “You have a buyer lined up already?”

“I deal in secondhand spice, ma’am.  Not trade secrets.”  Synjihn grinned at her.  “You don’t really want to know anyway, do you?  You just want to make sure you’re gonna get paid.”  He held up a credit chit, and spun it carefully on his fingers.  “I can make the risk worth your while, trust me.”

“You have another one of those, right?” said Gli hopefully.  “I get a finder’s fee.”

“Cours’n you do, babe.  I got your creds, don’t you worry none.”  Synjihn really enjoyed spending time with Gli.  It was educational.  He glanced at Gli again, looking at the man’s face rather than his body.  Synjihn noted there was an unusual tightness to Gli’s fixed smile.  A strain at the back of the Corellian’s neck.  “Everything okay, babe?”

“What?  I - I’m fine.  Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m jus’ suspicious by nature, babe.  Don’t mind me.”  Synjihn smiled casually, to put Gli and Neeto at ease.

“Don’t do it,” blurted Gli suddenly.  “Don’t deal with her!  She’s -”  The Corellian didn’t have to time to finish before the first shots rang out, but Synjihn mentally finished it for him.

“SIS.”

Neeto was fast, and her pistols were better for fighting in close quarters than his rifle.  Synjihn chose to fight dirty instead, and toppled over a pile of boxes.  The Rodian woman dodged, expecting an attack.  Synjihn jumped on the boxes instead, and in two quick hops was clambering to relative safety on the pipes that ran through the building.  She took one look at his perch, and, remembering the rifle he carried, retreated to shelter behind the boxes instead of following.  Synjihn laughed to himself.  “Not a nice woman, are ya, Miss Neeto?  Gli was a nice little thing to have around, gonna miss him.  No lie.”

Instead of responding to him, the SIS agent pulled out her transmitter and began signaling for backup.

“I gotta ask,” said Synjihn calmly, “why did you decide to come after me, ma’am?  I’m not that important, in the larger scheme o’ things.”

“I want your buyer,” she snapped.  “I know you’re dealing with the Imperials.”

Synjihn gave an inward sigh of relief.  His cover was still intact, then.  “That all  you wanted?  Rilly?  Was no need to kill poor li’l Gli fo’ that.”

“Bullshit,” snapped the Rodian.  “I have to take you in.  You’d never give me what I need otherwise.  You’re the most tight-lipped smuggler I’ve ever seen on Nar Shadaa.”

“Oh, stop, Miss Neeto,” laughed Synjihn.  “Yer makin’ me blush!”  He trained his rifle on the door, waiting for the first responder to arrive.  “But still, I’m sure we could have worked somethin’ out, if’n you had dealt with me in a polite, civilized fashion.  But killin’ my friends?  Ma’am, that’s just rude.  Damn rude.  Can’t go callin’ myself an honorable man if I let things like that just slide on by.”

“Careful at the door!” shouted Neeto.  “He’s got long range!”

Synjihn grinned to himself.  “Ma’am, I also have a very, very suspicious nature.”  He shifted his target imperceptibly, aiming at the spot near the door where he had been standing earlier.  He could see the small flicker of the timer.  “So, Miss Neeto, this is where we say ‘good bye’ - and fuck you, ya bitch.  I kinda had a soft spot for that boy.”  He fired, setting off the explosives.  The wall shattered under the force of the blast - Nar Shadaa slums weren’t known for quality construction.  The explosion made the pipes sway, but he’d been expecting that.  He used the shorter distance to toss a small grenade into Neeto’s makeshift shelter, and then quickly moved backwards along the pipes.  There was a broken wall nearby, giving him access to another shop in the area.  In the ensuing chaos, no one noticed a tall man with a wide-brimmed hat slip into the crowd that had gathered nearby.

He stood quietly and watched them pull out the bodies.  Neeto was in pieces, dripping Rodian ichor over the hands of her SIS compatriots.  Gli was dead, from Neeto’s first shot.  The flesh around the hole in his head was already black.  He couldn’t see if Gli’s smile was still frozen in place.  He made a mental note of their faces, the other SIS agents who had come to Neeto’s call.

“You shouldn’t have killed him,” Synjihn murmured to himself.  He pulled down the brim of his hat, not just to conceal his face, but to give a clear shot of his hands, so that anyone watching would know he was safe and that there were six dangerous targets in the area.  Imperial Intelligence was everywhere, after all.


	10. Prologue: The Agent

“Hutta?”  Synjihn looked at the datapad with open disgust.  “Hutts?  I was hoping for something a little more glamorous for my real first assignment.”

“No glam,” smiled Quinn.  “Just service.”

Synjihn nodded in resignation.  “I hope it’s important at least.”

“No doubt it will involve the delicate balance of power in the galaxy, and you’ll end up saving the Empire from certain destruction.”

Synjihn looked up sharply, but Quinn had delivered the ridiculous line with a completely straight face.  Synjihn rolled his eyes, and Quinn finally laughed lightly.

“Go.  Do your duty, smooth over whatever issue they are having with the Hutts, and wait for the inevitable promotion.”

“Yes, of course.”  Synjihn stood up and turned in a slow circle.  “Well, do I look passable?  Can you see the knives?”

“No, but I know where they are.”  Quinn reached out and compulsively straightened the younger man’s collar.  “You look fine.  Ah, before you leave, there was one last thing your father wanted you to take.  Well, keep, really.”


	11. Ancestry: "A matter of blood."

A young True Human woman - in appearance, barely more than a girl - raced around the room with very un-Sith like decorum, chasing after a miniature astromech droid which was nimbly dodging the bolts of purple lightning from her fingertips.  She had dark red hair, tied back in a neat bun that somehow had survived all her wild romping.  She was trim and shapely, dressed in dark robes and jewels that befitted her station, even if her actions did not.  Her face was pretty rather than beautiful; young, pale skin, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her eyes were dark blue - the darkness being an effect of her Sith nature.  She stopped suddenly, and the little droid instantly fled to safety beneath the couch where a man was reclining.

The Human man - clearly a Sith, likely a Lord - was reading a datapad, and was deliberately paying no attention at all to the young woman.  There was a definite resemblance between the two, although his hair and skin were the dead white of a Sith powerful in the Dark Side.  If he had ever had freckles, they were gone now, hidden beneath the maze of purple veins and other marks of the Dark Side.  His eyes had the same slightly slanted shape as hers, but they were solid red, as became a true Master of the Dark Side.  “What is it now?” he asked wearily, without looking up from the datapad in his hand.

Looking at the two of them, it was easy to see the family resemblance.  What was pretty in her face was sculpted perfection in Synjihn.  They all had the same smile, the same sensuous lips that curved perfectly for sneering or for kissing.  This was Synjihn’s father, and the young woman, who was most likely older than she looked, was an aunt.  The Sith language did not actually have a word for ‘father’s sister,’ it translated more as ‘one who bears the same bloodline,’ with markers to indicate that said person was Sith, and female.

“Give me money,” she demanded.  “I want to buy things.  Didn’t you have an assassin droid?  Where is it?  I wanted to play with it!”

“I am not your father,” grumbled the Sith Lord, but handed her a credit chit anyway.

“You might as well be,” she shot back.  “You’re older than me!  By centuries!  Where’s your HK unit?”

“I gave it an assignment,” he said absently, still focused on his reading.  “I told it to watch over my son.  And I am not that old.”

She blinked in surprise.  “For how long?  Didn’t he just graduate from the Academy?  Isn’t he supposed to be unnoticed?  What’s he going to do with an HK following him everywhere?”

“For as long as necessary,” he sighed.  He waved a hand in dismissal; graceful, lean, strong fingers, bearing only a single golden band to show commitment, rather than wealth.  “Go, do your shopping, sister.  You’re wearying me.”

A Sith herself, she knew better than to continue trying his patience, and ran out of the room with her prize.  At the door, she stopped to check the value of the credit chit, and squealed with delight when she saw the numbers.

“Oh?  Did something wonderful happen?” drawled the Sith Lord’s wife.  She was a tall woman, voluptuous and sensual, and a powerful Sith herself.  Like most Sith wives, she was also the Sith Lord’s apprentice.  But she was not Synjihn’s mother.

The young woman giggled.  “Yes!  Your Lord says he has a headache.  You should take off all your clothes and go comfort him!”

“I think I will,” smiled his wife, and walked into the room, disrobing as she went.

“You’re welcome, brother,” giggled the young Sith.  “And thank you!  I’m going shopping now.  Tell me if HK comes back!”


End file.
